


Wine-Dark Smile

by roswyrm



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Ambiguous Slash, Excessive Drinking, Fluff and Humor, Hamid is a lightweight, Hangover, Surprise Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-24 21:02:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17711531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roswyrm/pseuds/roswyrm
Summary: Sooo, okay, maybe Hamid got a bit too much to drink.Maybe.Just a bit.But, really, if you think about it, none of that matters because! He's got a dance partner and a record that's playing songs and all of his friends are there!Honestly, Hamid's having agreatnight.





	Wine-Dark Smile

**Author's Note:**

> sequel to paint the town red, but it can be read standalone. the necessary background info: they’re in Calais, Hamid is a fun drunk, Sasha thinks she’s slick, Bertie somehow manages not to snore, and zolf is the only sober one here. He’s. Suffering. Working Title: _and YOU get affection and YOU get affection EVERYBODY GETS AFFECTION_

Hamid. Feels. _Great._ He hasn’t danced in forever, but now! He is! And he’s a little wobbly, because he had a little too much to drink, but it’s fine. It’s better than fine! It’s great! Sasha is all giggly, and Bertie’s laughed himself to sleep, and Hamid has a big grin on his face because all of his friends are here, and they’re all happy, and that makes him happy, too!

Zolf glowers and asks, “Are we done?” Hamid frowns. This is supposed to be fun. This is— they’re dancing! Dancing is fun, and it’s happy, and it’s! Stuff that Hamid can’t think of right now! He leans forward and pokes Zolf in the face. Zolf grabs his wrist. “Okay, no. You need to go to bed.” Hamid pouts.

He boops Zolf on the nose with his free hand. “No fun,” Hamid complains. Zolf glares at him and grabs that wrist too. Hamid blinks. “Hands,” he mumbles. He has whole sentences in his head, but they don’t quite seem to be coming out right. He pouts and tries again, “S’not s’posed to be wrists. You’re s’posed to hold my _hands.”_ Zolf continues to glare. Hamid doesn’t know what for. It’s not like _Hamid_ is ruining the dancing. It’s all Zolf’s fault.

But that’s not a nice thought, and Hamid pouts more. It’s not all Zolf’s fault, Zolf is nice to him a lot, and it’s not fair to be mean to him. So Hamid tries to pat him on the shoulder to apologise, except his wrists are still being restrained. Zolf says, “Sasha, seriously. Either help me or kill me, I’m not picky.” Hamid scowls. He doesn’t want Zolf to pay attention to Sasha; he wants Zolf to pay attention to _him!_ He leans in to say something quietly, but he ends up pitching forward, which. Oh, well. Same difference.

Hamid scolds, “It’s not Sasha-time. It’s me-time. Pay attention to me!” and he hears Sasha start howling with laughter. 

“Yeah, Zolf! Pay attention to your Hamid!” she directs through giggles, and Hamid doesn’t _want_ to giggle back, but he can’t help it! Sasha’s his friend, (she’s his _favourite)_ and she’s happy, and even if she’s stealing attention, he loves her a lot! And besides, she’s doing her best to get Zolf to pay attention to him. And she’s happy! Did he mention that already? Hamid likes it when his friends are happy. It’s why he started the dancing.

Zolf sputters, “He’s not _my_ — I don’t— I _am_ paying attention to you! I’m telling you to go to bed, so your hangover isn’t awful tomorrow morning!” Hamid whines and hides his face in Zolf’s shoulder. He doesn’t _want_ to go to bed! He wants to keep dancing! Except _noooo,_ Hamid doesn’t get to have _any fun at all._ Zolf inhales deeply. “I’m too sober for this.”

The record skips, and a new song starts playing. Hamid beams. Music! For dancing! Yes, okay, exactly what he needs. “I’ll go to bed,” Hamid says, except that’s not all he has to say because Hamid is clever, _“if_ you dance with me for this song!” Zolf sighs. He lets go of Hamid’s wrists, and Hamid squeaks with excitement. Hamid takes his hands (because that’s how you’re supposed to dance: hands, not wrists) and starts leading them through a waltz. And okay, Hamid only kind of learned how to be the lead, he’s better at following, but he’s good enough. And Zolf is a good dancer! Zolf doesn’t step on his feet, and he doesn’t stumble too much, and he keeps Hamid standing up! Which is very kind of him! Hamid isn’t quite sure he could stand on his own.

The record skips again, but that’s not fair! They just started! “Okay, the song’s over, time for bed.” Hamid whines, because he doesn’t want to. And sure, he’s a little tired, and sleep sounds nice, but! Everyone is out here laughing, and Hamid doesn’t want to miss that!

And he blinks up at Zolf to tell him this, except he gets distracted. “Your lips are red,” he murmurs. Hamid noticed earlier, and Sasha said that one of the ladies kissed him. And Hamid didn’t like hearing it then or thinking about it now. A different song plays, and Sasha laughs. Hamid is too busy staring at Zolf’s mouth to laugh with her. 

Zolf stammers, “That’s— yes, you’re very observant. Bedtime.”

“S’not your colour. Lemme—” he reaches out to Prestidigitate a different shade on, but Zolf grabs his wrist again. It just seems to be the sort of night for that. Hamid fixes Zolf’s mistake so that they’re holding _hands _because that’s the way this is done. Hands, not wrists. Honestly.__

__Zolf says, “Do not magic any lipstick on me,” in a tone that bodes no argument. Hamid pouts. The exact shade he’s thinking of is real, and he has a little package of it in his makeup bag. His makeup bag is in his things somewhere, but that's so far away! And Zolf said not to magic it on him. So Hamid does the only thing available to him: he Prestidigitates his own lips the dark red that he’s thinking of and then kisses Zolf._ _

__“There,” Hamid announces proudly._ _

__Sasha cackles, but Hamid is too busy admiring at his handiwork to laugh with her._ _

__Zolf steps back so quickly Hamid loses his balance. Hamid is going to ask him to come back, but he’s already so far away. (Also, Hamid doesn’t think he would.) Sasha calls, “That’s the second time today!” Zolf wipes his mouth with the back of his hand as he stomps off, and Hamid pouts. It was such a good colour! “Maybe _you’re_ the charismatic one in the group!” The room door slams shut. Which is unfortunate, because that probably means that Zolf wants to be alone, but that’s the room where all the beds are._ _

__Hamid manages (somehow) to stand up again, and the record doesn’t play anything but static. Hamid _does_ actually feel a bit tired. He rubs at his eyes and makes his way over to the chair where Bertie is passed out, and Sasha is perched on the arm. Hamid kisses Bertie’s forehead (he did that all the time in University) and kisses the back of Sasha’s hand. “S’cause you’re my favourites,” he tells them because it’s important that they know that. And then Hamid stumbles to the bed that’s not Zolf’s and falls in, not even bothering to get into his pyjamas or clean off his makeup.  
_______  
 _Something crawled into Hamid’s mouth and died there._ His eyes are crusted over and glued shut by sleep and (judging by the gold smudges on his hand) last night’s eyeliner. There are purply-red and gold stains on his pillowcase, and his clothes are rumpled, and his hair is a _mess._ And, to add to all of that, Hamid genuinely can’t remember the details of what happened last night. Sure, there are vague impressions. He did a lot of dancing, he thinks? Hamid hopes he didn’t say anything too embarrassing._ _

__He’s never letting Sasha buy him drinks again._ _

__There’s no one else in the bedroom, so they’ve all probably got up. He pinches the bridge of his nose as he makes his way to the bathroom. He splashes cold water over his face; the bright, fluorescent lights don’t help his blossoming headache _at all,_ thanks. It takes a legitimate effort not to scream when he sees his reflection. And usually, he’d just Prestidigitate himself back to his normal state, but _noooo,_ his head starts pounding at even the _thought_ of trying to do magic. “Ugh,” he says, and it cracks out of his throat like he’d chased last night’s firewhiskey with gravel. Hamid winces. _ _

__There’s a knock on the bathroom door, and Hamid croaks, “Give me a minute.” He scrubs the rest of his eyeliner off, and he squints at the dark red on his lips. It looks almost like they’ve been stained by wine, but he didn’t drink any wine. Did he? He’ll put more effort into remembering when his headache is gone. _It’s probably not important,_ he thinks as he scrubs that off too. The knock comes again, and Hamid groans at how the sound reverberates around the tiled walls. “I know, I know, I’m coming,” he grouses. He slips off-and-on his cuffs, and even if he’s a bit of a mess, his clothes are immaculate as always._ _

__Hamid steps out into the main room, fiddling a bit with his tie more out of the need for something to occupy his hands with than the need to fix his appearance. Sasha blinks at him from her perch on the fold-out couch. “Morning, Hamid,” she greets, and it sounds like he isn’t the only one with a bad hangover. Hamid nods in return and sits down on the edge of the mattress._ _

__Hamid asks, “When are we getting on the train to Paris?” and Sasha shrugs._ _

__“It’s up to whenever Bertie wakes up.”_ _

__Hamid snorts. “So, tomorrow afternoon.”_ _

__“Actually,” Zolf says, walking into the den with two cups of coffee, “we’re going in an hour. With or without Bertie.” He hands one of the mugs to Hamid, who wrinkles his nose at the strong smell but drinks it anyway. He’s not going to turn down something to get him fully awake again. Sasha reaches for the other one. (There’s a dark red smudge on the back of her hand. Hamid wonders what happened there.) Zolf keeps it away from her. “You can make your own,” he says, sounding like it’s a personal offence, the way Sasha tried to take the mug from his hands. Sasha levels a glare at him._ _

__Hamid passes her his mug. He doesn’t really like coffee; she can have his. Sasha squints at it suspiciously, lips pursing in distaste. “I don’t want this. You put your lips on it. Give it to Zolf, or something.” Zolf sets his mug down on the side table harder than was probably necessary. Hamid’s brow furrows in confusion._ _

__“He…” Hamid begins, unsure as to what’s happening, “already has one?”_ _

__“Does he?” asks Sasha, in the tone she has that means she’s just realised what she’s done and is trying to cover for it. Hamid’s brow furrows further._ _

__“Yyyyyyes..? Am I— what am I missing, here?”_ _

__Sasha and Zolf say, “Nothing,” at the same time in very different ways. Sasha’s tone suggests that ‘nothing’ is something embarrassing she’s lying about. Zolf’s tone suggests that Sasha had best get better at lying before he strangles her. Hamid raises his eyebrows._ _

__He takes another sip of his coffee and says, “Okay,” in a tone that suggests he’s not going to pry, but that they should _definitely_ tell him regardless. Neither of them says anything on the subject._ _

__...okay.  
_______  
Bertie, who managed the feat of staying awake for half an hour, is back to snoring in the opposite train seat. Sasha is leaning against the door with her eyes closed, but Hamid doesn’t know if she’s sleeping or trying to hide from her hangover. Hamid is leaning back against the seats of the train with a hand pressed over his eyes when Zolf puts a hand on his shoulder and casts Cure Light Wounds. The headache lessens, and Hamid's brain kicks back into gear. He remembers the dancing, and the wrists-not-hands, and the lipstick, and the—_ _

___“OhmygodsI_ kissed _you.”__ _

**Author's Note:**

> is this done? eh.   
> will i mess around with it some more in the future? probably.  
> am i done dealing with this thing for at least the next eight weeks? oh you betcha.  
> anyway i'm on tumblr @roswell-the-wrongdoer come send me a prompt and i'll write you a thing!!


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